


Watch Where You Step

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Forced Orgasm, Hurt Dean, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 21:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14941301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sam finds an old copy of Gulliver's Travels in the bunker.Dean finds out that the Lilliputians were a whole lot kinkier than anybody knew.  First hand.





	Watch Where You Step

“Sam! Seriously?”

Dean winced as he limped to the nearest chair and dropped into it. His little toe was throbbing, and he carefully undid his sneaker and took off his sock. He feared the worst, expecting to see the digit sticking out at an unnatural angle, but right now it felt worse than it looked.

Later, it’d probably be bruised, but at the moment all it did was hurt.

“What?” Sam appeared from the hall, an open book in his hands and a distracted expression on his face. 

“What?” Dean mimicked, and then pointed to the box of books his brother had left half sticking out under the table. “You’re a little old to be leaving things lying at your ass.”

“Oh.” Sam lifted the box up and set it on the table, but Dean pushed at it angrily. The thing looked mildewed in places, and it smelt old and fusty. 

“We eat off this table,” he snapped, prompting Sam to roll his eyes but lift the box off again.

“Fine. Jeez, Dean, it’s just an old box of books.”

“Where did you get them anyway? Tell me you didn’t spend money on those at the goodwill shop.”

“Nuh-uh. I found them in the back of the storeroom at the end of the south corridor.”

Dean eyed the box in his brother’s arms with suspicion. “You checked them out?”

“They weren’t in a curse box,” Sam said. “They’re just novels, Dean. That’s all. And there’s some first editions in here, too.”

“Woo-hoo. Just get them out of here before they stink the place out any more.”

Sam shrugged off his whining. “Whatever.”

After he was gone, Dean realised he’d left behind the book he was reading. He didn’t pick it up - the cover had damp stains, and maybe what was something growing along part of the spine - but he could make out the title.

 _Gulliver's Travels_.

Dean found himself grinning. When Sam was little, that was one of the books that had switched from the local library to the Winchesters’ private collection. It had followed them through four different hunts and finally got left behind, somewhere.

Dean honestly had no idea what had happened to their copy, and he’d never got to finish reading it to Sam.

It kind of felt meant to be that it was one of the books Sam had found in the old box, and he temporarily set aside fears of hexed books and spelled pages.

It didn’t mean he'd forgotten his aching toe, though, or that the books might not be cursed but damn well looked like they should be set on fire anyway to kill whatever scummy mould was living on them.

So Sam could come and get his find himself, and Dean would make sure he scrubbed his hands thoroughly before he touched another thing anywhere in the bunker.

*-*

Just after midnight, Dean woke up feeling a little uneasy.

He didn’t know why; it was like waking from a bad dream that you didn’t remember, but had still left that lingering discomfort as if your head wasn’t convinced that it had just been a dream.

He flopped back down on the bed, but sleep didn’t come after that. He even tried his well favoured practice of jerking off, trying to replay in his head some porn he’d been watching earlier, imagining lying there as various people worked him over. But, in the end, after fifteen or so minutes of trying, and finding himself awake and frustrated, he got up and decided he might as well do something constructive.

He stopped to check in on Sam, and found his little brother sound, and closed over his door. Then Dean crept back to the library, and figured a little research might help settle him and give them a clue what the creature Jody was hunting right now might be.

But as soon as he set foot in the room, Dean became even more certain that something was amiss.

The room looked no different; but the bunker was his home, and he sensed that something was definitely wrong.

He started towards the table, thinking to get the gun he kept strapped beneath it, when his ankle snagged against something.

Whatever it was, it snapped taut, and then he was stumbling forward. The table was both too far and too near: too far for him to catch, and too near for him to fall safely. He banged his head against it as he fell forward, certainly not as hard as he could have done had he not grabbed out at one of the chairs, but hard enough to send him sprawling and dazed to the floor.

As he lay there, he became convinced the shadows along the floor were moving.

Somewhere near, something giggled, and that was the last sound Dean heard.

*-*

When he woke up, the first thing Dean realised was that he couldn’t move.

At all.

He tried to sit up, but something was stretched across his body. It was thin, and it dug in as he strained, biting like wire, which made him stop immediately. Trying to move his legs, his arms, produced the same painful result, but when he made to turn his head, to see what was going on, it felt like something was trying to rip the hair from his scalp.

“Sam,” he gasped, but his throat was desert dry, and his brother’s name came out croaky and low.

How long had he been lying there?

When he felt something touch his hand, he struggled, wire bindings or not. Whatever it was, it was small, and it felt like it was climbing up onto his arm, and scuttling along it, over his shoulder, up his throat, and then…

Then it was standing on his chin, and Dean was pretty sure at that point that he’d broken his head hard because there was no way he was actually seeing this.

There was a small man standing on his chin, staring devilishly at him.

“What the fuck,” Dean panted. “What the actual fuck.”

The little man looked back, and made a beckoning gesture. Dean felt a similar sensation to before, but from both sides, now, and along his legs as well.

Soon he could just make out movement at the edges of his vision, but he could feel enough to know there were a bunch of them standing on his chest and his shoulders.

“Look,” Dean said, because this probably was some head injury created illusion and Sam would find him in the morning and tease the shit out of him for tripping over his own feet in the dark, but maybe, just maybe, it was real, “how about you let me go, and I don’t kill you?”

The little man’s face darkened but then he laughed. It was high pitched, almost like a penny whistle, but then he stomped across Dean’s lips and grabbed hold of Dean’s septum with both hands and squeezed.

It shouldn’t have hurt. The little fucker was only inches tall. But it did. It hurt like fuck, and Dean yelped, and tears nipped at his eyes.

“Okay, okay, fuck!”

Then the little man patted Dean’s cheek and slid down his jaw until he was level with Dean’s ear.

“Yes,” he said, leaning in to make sure Dean could hear him. “Yes, exactly.”

*-*

Dean wasn’t sure, later, just how long it lasted, but it felt like hours.

He’d wondered, at first, how exactly they were going to make it work, and what fucked up version of Gulliver Sam had found in that box, because Dean was pretty sure in the one he’d read Gulliver just got tied up, not tied up and molested.

But the little people seemed to know what they were doing, and when Dean felt the first of them crawling under his clothes, he let out such a scream that he was sure Sam had to have heard it.

The sock stuffed into his mouth by two of them, the one Dean remembered leaving behind earlier as he bemoaned his sore toe, stifled the sound before it could get far, though, and after a few moments Dean remember closing Sam’s door over tight.

Fuck.

But then all he knew was the feeling of tiny hands digging in as their owners wriggled about across his skin.

Some of them were moving across his stomach, small fingers touching sensitive spots, and Dean started to giggle through the sock-gag. He struggled, futilely, and that seemed to egg them on. But then they’d kept moving, and when the first few of them reached his nipples, Dean was screaming again.

They might have been small but holy shit they were proving size truly didn’t matter. Small hands, tiny tongues, squeezing, licking. He even felt the scratch of teeth as they nipped and bit. 

The wire did its share of biting as he writhed but they’d tied him down so efficiently that he couldn’t move enough to do himself much damage.

All the pain he did cause helped with was a counterpoint to the pleasure rippling through him, and they seemed to play off each other until he was sure he was going mad.

One of them… One of them was fisting his belly button. He was sure of it. He could feel something shoving in and pulling back out, and it didn’t hurt but the pressure was uncomfortable.

He grunted a plea through the sock, but they were all too busy, under his clothes, to notice. And even if they had, Dean doubted they were too interested in his safe word.

And then he felt one of them touching his balls.

That was it. Wire or not, Dean thrashed, and he felt his skin turn hot where he had finally drawn blood. But his movements were still restricted enough to stop him getting free or dislodging the little shits from his body.

He sagged, panting, as as more hands, and mouths, it seemed, set to work, and his felt his balls start to tighten.

Holy fuck, they were going to make him come.

He just knew it. One of them had found his slit, and what felt like tiny fingers poked and prodded, and he felt a sudden horrific curiosity: were any of them small enough to get in him?

He felt sweat slick and strangely distant from all of it them, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it, except endure.

It felt like they were all over him, touching, doing what they wanted, and though he tried to fight it, he knew his release was approaching.

He twitched deliberately against the wire, hoping the sharp burst of pain would stave it off, but again it just seemed to ramp it up, and then yes, he felt a tiny limb pushing into his dick, and that was it.

He yelled through the sock as he came, spurting, come soaking his sleep pants.

 _I hope you fucking drown in it_ , he thought, savagely, as his body knotted up and he had to try and breathe through it, ride it out.

When it was done, he felt wrung out and exhausted. Even without the wire ropes holding him down, he couldn’t have done a damn thing about the tiny forms now slipping out from under his clothing. 

One by one, they came up and pressed a gentle kiss to his face. A few came close enough to his lips that had Dean a mind to - and if he thought he could ever eat anything again after - he could have snapped them in two with his teeth.

But there was something strangely gentle about them now, almost humble. And when they were done with what had seemed an act of gratitude, Dean could felt them tugging at the bindings pinning him to the floor.

Somewhere in the middle of it, his body quit, and he surrendered to the overwhelming exhaustion.

*-*

“Hey. Dean. Dean!”

Dean jerked awake to Sam shaking him. 

He was still lying on the floor, and it felt like he hurt everywhere, and he felt the unpleasant caking of his dried release sticking his pants to him.

“Yeah, okay, I’m okay.”

“Sure,” Sam said, sounding wholly unconvinced. “You gave yourself some whack there.” He pointed to Dean’s temple, and Dean figure he knew what it looked like.

“I’ll live.” He held out his hand, and Sam helped him sit up, and then got him to his feet. 

“What happened? You trip or something?”

 _Or something_ , Dean thought, and then he looked down sharply, even bending over to check under the table, and chairs.

Sam watched him, with growing alarm, and then Dean spotted the book on the table.

It was exactly where Sam had left it last night, and there was nothing to indicate the tiny characters had escaped its pages to capture and have their sick fucking way with him during the night.

Maybe...maybe he had imagined it all.

“Dean,” Sam said. He looked more scared than worried, now.

“I’m okay,” Dean said.

“I found you out cold on the floor. That is not okay, and we’re going to the E.R.”

Dean waved him off. “No, we’re not. Look, you can keep an eye on me for a few hours, and if you’re still worried then, we’ll go, okay? But I’m fine, honestly.”

He wasn’t about to tell Sam his lack of consciousness had been because he’d had an orgasm ripped out of him by fifty or however many tiny little freaks playing with nearly his whole fucking body.

He wasn’t even sure that it had happened, except why did he have dried spunk sticking his sleep pants to him?

At least Sam hadn’t noticed that.

“You’re not sleeping for twelve hours,” Sam said.

Dean nodded, and tried to hide a wince as his head started to really ache, and his neck muscles joined in. “Yeah, you’re the boss. Can you put some coffee on? I’ll be through in a minute.”

Sam didn’t look happy but he did head off to the kitchen, though he kept looking back every few steps as he if expected Dean to suddenly keel over the moment his back was turned.

When he was gone, Dean picked up the book. It still stank of damp, and the feel of it made his skin crawl, though that he suspected was more to do with what happened last night than the state it was in.

Yeah, he’d seen some freaky stuff as a hunter, and as such kept a very open mind, but this …. This seemed beyond any plausibility, even so.

He tossed the book on the table. He’d been tired, he’d been horny, and he’d seen the book, and then he’d tripped and cracked his head.

And his mind had done the rest, even including giving him what he imagined had been a very powerful orgasm.

Fuck it. 

He heard Sam yelling on him, that the coffee wouldn’t be long, and he started towards the hall.

His foot hit something, sending it rolling across the floor, and he bent to see what it was.

It was a tiny peg, with a broken length of wire attached. From here, Dean could see tiny holes driven into the floor, about the size of the peg in his hand, too small to be noticeable unless you were this close and something had happened to make you expect to see them.

He heard a tiny giggle, and when he looked up the book was open, at the pages where Gulliver finds himself bound and a prisoner of the Lilliputians.

Dean picked up the book and stared at it.

All in all...they were freaky little bastards, and he did not like them pouncing on him as they had. But he couldn’t deny he hadn’t come that hard in a long fucking time, and maybe…

If they left the bondage, and the head injury out of it…

He tucked the book under his arm, and figured with a little pre negotiation, just maybe they could come up with an arrangement that could work.


End file.
